Moments
by Liyrah
Summary: An ongoing series of Finnick/Annie drabbles, in no particular order.
1. Immortal

**A/N: Hello. So, to further portray myself as an author with a short attention span and little confidence in herself, I've decided to start a 100 kind-of-drabbles fic, centering around Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta. They will be as long or short as I want them to be, and might not even be cannon at some points. Officially, I hope to post 100 of these drabbles, but we'll see. R&R, please.**

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**Disclaiming Disclaimer has disclaimed.**

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1. _Immortal_

Winning the games made him feel almost God-like. It was a strong feeling, and one that didn't go away easily, not matter how much evidence pointed to the opposite.

For a while, he didn't have much of a problem with the Capitol's flaunting him about as if he was some sort of mindless drone—he was young and stupid and so overwhelmed with a false sense of security to care. It was an easy life, marred only once per year when he was obligated to attend the Games and, almost certainly, watch his tributes die. Eventually, aided by alcohol and empty sex with almost any willing participant, he became almost numb to it.

And then Annie Cresta won the 70th Annual Hunger Games and Finnick Odair remembered what hope felt like.

And when he saw what the Games did to her, he was finally reminded that he wasn't immortal. None of them were.


	2. Sway

2. _Sway_

Sometimes, he would catch her standing alone on the beach, arms wrapped around herself, eyes squeezed shut against the breeze, her body swaying rhythmically in the ocean air.

Those days, he felt helpless. In a sick sort of way, it was almost better when she was in hysterics. Better when the nightmares caused her to wake up screaming and clawing in the middle of the night. Because then, at least, he had some idea of how to comfort her.

But, on days like this, all he could do was walk out to the beach, wrap his arms around her shivering body, and remind her that she wasn't alone. That she would never have to be alone again.

"I'm falling, Finnick," Annie would sometimes mutter, quiet and shakily under her breath.

"I'll catch you."


	3. Futile

3. _Futile_

Finnick had lost track of how many times someone told him that Annie was hopeless.

He remembered the aftermath of the 70th Hunger Games—how the celebration over Annie Cresta's victory had quickly turned to horror when it was finally realized that her mental state was not so easily changed over time.

And just like that, District Four—and the Capitol—had discarded her. Hid her away, as if she was some sort of awful secret.

On her better days, she would question him about it.

"Finnick, am I hopeless?"

"Never," he would respond. And he always meant it.


	4. Erratic

4._ Erratic_

Sometimes, Annie sang.

She had quite a beautiful voice, Finnick thought, her vibrato conveying more emotion than her own limited words were able. She didn't know he heard her. Not for a long time at least—he resigned himself to listening to her from the next room over, or from a safe distance, as not to discourage her from the practice.

And then, always, without fail, the notes would dissolve into quiet sobs of grief that never seemed to leave her.

And, sometimes, Finnick wept, too.

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**A/N: My writing it getting far too melodramatic. I apologize. **


	5. Silence

5. _Silence_

Sometimes, Annie went days without speaking. She simply couldn't find it in herself to make a sound, and resigned herself to slight nods of the head as her sole way of communication. Sometimes, she wouldn't even acknowledge those around her save, sometimes, for Finnick. And when he would ask her about it later, she would say it was because, sometimes, words were poisonous.

He asked what she meant.

"I can't talk about it, or I'll remember."

"Remember what?"

"Everything."

He didn't need any more clarification than that, but he prayed to anyone that was listening that, someday, words would help her.

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**A/N: This is probably the worst I've written so far. Sorry. **


	6. Myth

6. _Myth_

Annie Cresta wondered if there was really such a thing as "peace". She wondered if Panem had ever been peaceful, or if it had always been the same, barbaric, corrupt, region that it was. Shamelessly killing its own children.

Of course there were stories, ones they were never allowed to learn in school. Stories of times before the Disasters and the Wars when the region was prosperous and safe. But they were just stories, Annie assumed, and if there was any record of them, they were kept under lock and key by the Capitol.

So they might as well have never existed at all.

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**A/N: Annie-centric, this one. But it was begging to be written ;)**


	7. Misguided

7. _Misguided_

Her family had truly and honestly made their best attempt to understand their daughter's condition, but it was hard for them to have a perfectly sane daughter one minute and a mentally unstable one the next. Plus, it didn't help to have the Capitol breathing down their necks, demanding that they fix her before she said something disparaging against the government.

And that was why Annie Cresta was left practically alone after the Games. Until, one day, a familiar face showed up at her new home in the Victor's Village with a cheeky grin and a shoulder to cry on.


	8. Sunset

8. _Sunset_

District Four had hot, humid summers. So hot, even, that many residents made it a point to spend as much of the long summer days indoors as possible, when they weren't working out on the docks, that is.

The only real beauties of the summers were the sunsets. Annie Cresta and Finnick Odair knew this.

Many evenings were spent between the two, sitting on the beach, watching the last of the fishermen disappear into their homes for the night, admiring the spectacle of the sun turning the clouds into impossible shades of pink and orange as it slowly sunk into the horizon, dipping—but not really dipping—into the blue ripples of water below it.

His hand in hers, Finnick couldn't think of anything more beautiful in all of Panem, or anyone who would rather be sharing the sight with.

Her hand in his, a nagging voice in the back of Annie's head told her that it was too good to last.


	9. Youth

**A/N: Oh hi. I'm back. Sorry about the hiatus. I was busy graduating from high school. But I'm on summer break now, so updates should become regular again. Sorry this is kind of bad; I'm just getting back into the swing of things.**

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9. _Youth_

He teased her when they were kids. The age difference was minute enough for him to tease and for her to get offended. And throw sand at him, he remembered.

He remembered her running home to her mother, angrily, and the older woman coming back down to the beach where they played, daughter's hand in hers, demanding that the older boy apologize. And he remembered that, when he did apologize, he meant it.

When Annie came back from the Games, he longed for her to throw sand at him again. To tell him how terrible he was, and how she would never forgive him—even though she always eventually did—for the names he sometimes called her. She shouldn't forgive him this time, Finnick thought. He was a lousy mentor and a lousy friend.

But he'd have given anything to give back the youth that was stolen from her by the Capitol.


	10. Sparsile

**A/N: Sorry for lack of updates! Unfortunately there are multiple issues in my personal life that I'm attempting to sort out. But, for those of you still reading, I've tried to whip something up for you. I can't promise when the next update will be, but I'm doing my best not to abandon this story. Also, I've changed the title to something less pretentious. **

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**10. Sparsile**

The stars were exceptionally bright that night.

Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta sat on a hill adjacent to the ocean, listening to the waves crash violently—but yet, almost melodically—against the shores, staring up at the stars. Annie, once again trapped inside her own mind, nightmares of the Games ever-present, had not spoken in days. Finnick held her hand in his reassuringly, as if to remind her that he was still there. When he saw the tears welling up in her eyes, he settled on distracting her.

Nudging her shoulder with his own, he pointed up at the star-littered sky. "I think I remember the names of some of these," he said cocking his head to the side. "Let's see now…there's Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, Orion's belt…uh…" his hand, which had been tracing the sky in the shapes of the constellations, stopped suddenly on a single lone star, seemingly burning haphazardly in the far reaches of the universe.

"Sparsile," Annie said, turning to him. Her voice sounded raspy and uneven, a sign of chronic disuse. But Finnick couldn't help but smile.

"Where's the rest of it?" he grinned, turning to face her.

Annie leaned into him, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. She cleared her throat, "No, 'sparsile' is a very old and forgotten word for a star that doesn't have any constellation. It's just alone."

Finnick draped an arm over her shoulders, "I've never heard of it."

"No, no one ever has," Annie assured him. She paused, "I'm not sure why I know it myself."

He gave her his biggest grin—the one reserved only for her, "Because you're brilliant," he said. She responded with a sarcastic chuckle and eye roll.

He pulled her close and kissed her on the forehead, "I mean it."

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**A/N: Ah, I like this one. It's a bit longer than the rest, about 250 words, but I really couldn't tell the story in 100 words this time. "Sparsile" is a real word the has fallen into disuse, by the way, and for some reason I've been obsessed with the word for years. I'll try to update in a timely manner.**


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